


The Zemnian Connection

by SonOfaChipwich



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb is a good dad, Even though he doesn't know what he is doing, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, rating changed for swearing and content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonOfaChipwich/pseuds/SonOfaChipwich
Summary: An imagining of Nott and Caleb's exploits between escaping prison and meeting the rest of the crew. Hijinks and bonding ensue.





	1. Gelbfeld Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if the German is flawed, I'm still a student. Any comments are appreciated, as this is the first piece of fic I've written!

The two-horse carriage rumbled down a cobbled street, loud and imposing. The occasional pedestrian hustled to make way, pulling their hat and collar tighter against lashing rain. The driver, in his own wet-weather garb, could nonetheless feel the damp and cold in his bones. A few more years of this, and the joint aches would set in too badly for him to keep at this job. But, for the moment, he thought only of his current passenger’s safe and speedy transportation, and the hefty sum promised for ensuring it. 

Junker Alric Blumbaum, though sheltered from the elements, could likewise think of nothing but his own safety. A man such as himself, in a town with such a reputation as this one’s, could not be too cautious. The flinty, muscled presence of his man Reinhold comforted him somewhat, but he could not fully stifle his nerves. People who got lost in Gelbfeld, he heard, tended not to show up again. But, surely, if it came to the worst, he could always pay off any interested parties...

A sharp jolt, followed closely by another, fractured his tenuously peaceful musings. The carriage clattered to an unbidden stop. Blumbaum flinched as the door flung open, letting in a sheet of rain and the driver’s sodden head.

“Herr Blumbaum, eh... There is a problem.” The driver’s voice shook with concern. 

“Well, sort it out!” the nobleman snapped. 

“I would like to, Herr, but, eh...” 

“Fine, fine,” Blumbaum said, hoisting his ample frame from the seat. “Reinhold, my umbrella, if you please. What in the Hells is the matter?” Blumbaum stepped heavily onto the road, followed close by his body man. His elegant black umbrella kept off the worst of the rain, but his leather loafers were immediately soaked through. 

“What is it, man?” asked Blumbaum, glaring at the driver. Beyond the slim coachman, he could now see, and hear, the cause of the disturbance. A filthy transient, cloaked in rags, was hunched in the road, cradling what looked to be a child. The whelp writhed in the vagrant’s arms, bawling as if in mortal pain. 

“I.. The girl... She...” The driver sputtered, gesturing vaguely at the wretched pair. The noble could see what had happened, and rounded on the driver. 

“Yes, I see, but why did you stop the verdammte carriage? If an urchin girl is too stupid to clear the road, that’s none of my concern!” 

“Please,” the crouching man interjected, shouting over the child’s pathetic whines. “She’s hurt, badly, she needs medical aid!”

“Then find her some!” Blumbaum spat. “Komm, Reinhold, we must be going.”

“Bitte warten Sie,” the man said, standing and drawing closer. Reinhold moved to interpose. “Liebe Herr,” the man continued, “I think my daughter’s leg is broken.”

As if on cue, the child piped up, shrill and grating. “Oh, me leg! Me poor leg! It’s all busted and broken! What a world, what a world!”

“She may be crippled all her days! Do you feel no guilt in this? Is your own carriage not your responsibility? I would hate to have to call the guard, but...” He trailed off, never breaking eye contact. 

The nobleman balked. There were schedules to keep, and he ill trusted the guardsmen in a mudhole town like this to treat him with the respect he deserved. 

“All right, fine, how much will it take to get you to leave me be?” Blumbaum dug for his purse in the deep folds of his cloak.

“To take care of an injury like this... would mein guter Herr be kind enough to provide ten gold pieces?”

Blumbaum barked a laugh, sneering with all the contempt he could muster as he pulled a single gold coin from his purse and threw it into a puddle at his feet. “There, that should be enough, I think.”

The girl sprung from her father’s arms with uncanny force, wrapping her scrawny arms around Blumbaum’s calves, wailing with renewed vigor. “Oh, thank you sir, thank you ever so much! Gods bless you for your philanderin’!”

“Get off of me, Dreckiger!” He sent the girl tumbling with a kick and turned sharply to climb back into the carriage. “Driver, we will be off at once! And we will need to stop at a clothier. No doubt my pantaloons are ruined!” The portly noble’s indignant cries were audible even as the carriage rumbled around a corner and out of sight.

Miraculously, the small girl popped back to her feet, her leg injury forgotten. She and the man took shelter under a protruding eave to inspect their prize. 

The man pulled down his cloak cowl, brushing coppery hair from his weatherbeaten face as he looked the dirty coin over. “Well, Nott, I had hoped for more, but this will do. Also, the word is philanthropy, not philandering. Good vocabulary, though, ganz gut.” He pushed his companion’s hood from her head, ruffling her wild black hair.

Her long ears twitched as they unfurled from behind her head, and she pulled her porcelain half-mask down. “Thank you Caleb,” she replied, grinning her goblinish grin, “and don’t worry, I think Mister Noble Man was a bit more philanthropical than he knows!” The fat noble’s fatter coin purse clinked as she tossed it lightly in her hand. 

Caleb’s eyebrows arched in amazement. “Nott, how did you get that? It was in his hand, I never saw it leave!”

The goblin shrugged. “Nabbed it when I went to grab his legs. Easy, really. I’m good at nabbin’.” She handed off the purse to her tall friend and took a flask from her hip, slugging back a large gulp and shaking it before returning it to its holster. “Hm. Runnin’ a little low.”

“Not to worry, Nottchen,” Caleb said. “With our newfound funds, we can restock your booze, the good stuff, and have plenty left over for books.”

“And food?”

“Ja, ja. And food.”

 

The Boisterous Bullywug Public House and Hostelry was hot, cramped, and poorly ventilated. Smoke from the large fire clung to the low ceiling, and surly patrons nursed strong drink and spoke in muted tones. Not the most relaxing place, to be sure, but perfect for those who didn’t want to be bothered or, for that matter, noticed. 

At a corner table, Caleb sipped at a hearty vegetable stew, trying to warm up from the chill of the rain. Nott had already devoured a small roast bird in her crude but effective way, and had begun gnawing on the countless tiny bones before moving on to the second bird.

“So,” she began, between snorting breaths and slurping bites, “You’re sure what you did to that fella will wear off? It was kinda scary, what with his eyes goin’ all funny and him doin’ what you wanted an’ all.”

“Yes, he’ll be fine,” Caleb assured. “All that spell does is convince someone that I am their friend, and so they usually do what I ask, within reason. It will go away eventually, and he’ll know what I did, but I doubt he will have the inclination to track us down again.”

“Are you sure?” Nott asked, half-muffled by the leg bone sticking from her mouth. “That noble one is probably pretty mad that we took his purse, and the big guy looked mean!”

“Shh shh, Liebchen, keep your voice down.” Caleb shot a look over his shoulder. The people here were absorbed in their own affairs, but better not to speak loudly about the scam they pulled, especially because they might pull another before they left. “That money? To him, pocket change. He won’t be happy, but that won’t be enough to bring him back to a place like this.”

Nott chewed for a moment, ruminating. “Yeah, I guess. Just seems odd that someone could think of fifteen gold so lightly. Oh! Good job, using that little ale cask for the bump! It musta felt to them like they ran right over a body! I didn’t even know you could turn things to stone!”

He smiled at the compliment, his nervous brow momentarily relaxing. “Neither did I, until a few days ago. I think I can do other things, too. Wood, stone, some metals, they can all flow into and become each other quite easily. I just have to help them out a bit.”

Nott’s feline eyes sparkled with wonderment. “Amazin’... Wish I could do some magic. Then I could really help!” She smiled, but cast her gaze down at her plate. 

“Ach, still sein. You’re plenty helpful already, Nott. Do you think I could have taken that pouch so quietly with my great big human hands?” Nott chuckled, eyes still downcast. “But,” Caleb continued, “If you really want to learn some magic, I would be willing to teach you a few things. But I warn you, it does require a fair bit of reading.” 

Nott snapped to attention, scattering shards of fowl bone in her excitement. “Really Caleb, really? Do you think I could learn magic? I’m– well, I’m not smart, like you...” Her voice shrunk as she spoke, as if she could decrease her possible disappointment with her volume. 

Caleb’s chest panged. That settled it, he supposed. “Absolut sicher,” he said, pushing his soup aside. “You don’t need to be a genius to learn. You only need persistence. And who is more persistent than you, eh?” 

Nott beamed, showing every one of her needle teeth. Caleb had become used to this expression. It was the same one she wore when she was about to steal something shiny.

“Mask on, Kleiner,” Caleb said, standing. “We're going shopping, and then it’s time for your first lesson.”

 

Their rented room was barely large enough for the both of them to move around comfortably, but they each had the same thought, independently: anything was better than a cell. Besides that, both of them were too delighted with their new purchases, or, in Nott’s case, “acquisitions,” to mind the tight quarters. 

Caleb sat on the single bed, reverently leafing through a venerable tome titled in a language he didn’t recognize. Thankfully, the main text was Old Middle Zemnian, with which he had a familiarity, enough to know that this was a compendium of folktales from Zemni and surrounding lands. He was no folklorist, but he marveled at the variety of stories the volume contained, their interweaving origins, complex yet folksy morality, and the ways in which they had both changed and persisted in more modern stories. Beyond that, the book itself was a treasure. Leatherbound, illuminated title pages, even a real red ribbon bookmark. It was worth every copper of its steep price and more. 

Nott as well, was savoring the finer things. Specifically, a flask full of Zemnian Sunshine. The liquor, so named because the stills which produced it needed to be in direct sunlight to work their particular magic, was strong enough to strip the scales from a dragon, and did wonders in taking the edge off her “itch.” Just a few swigs for now, she wanted to make this last. Even better than dulling the itch, however, was scratching it, and she had done just that while Caleb bought ingredients for his spells. Ingredients? No, that’s not what they were called. She struggled to remember, but found she couldn’t focus on anything but the little tin soldier she had swiped from a display table in the shop. It wasn’t shiny like the things she usually liked to have. Rather, it had a sheen, a dull luster that played across its patina of rust and imperfection hypnotically. And the smell! Metal could smell so interesting! It told a rich sensory story of much use and many owners. This one was special, no doubt about it. 

Caleb’s book snapped dully as he closed it. “Okay, Nott, let’s teach you some magic. Come here and watch closely.” Nott clambered up onto the bed and fixed her eyes on him. “You know how I can make little lights appear? And make them come together like a little man? We will start with that.” Slowly, patiently, he began to show her the gesture and teach her the incantation to cast the simple spell. He explained that she must fully trace the circles in the air, moving both the wrist and the finger. He coached her through the sticky arcane pronunciation. He found himself pleasantly surprised at her focus. Despite his comment on her persistence, he had fully expected her to get frustrated quickly. Instead, she showed only determination. It was slow going, to be sure; her hands, usually so nimble, fumbled with intangible magical gestures, and arcane speech contained a few consonant sounds which she had never before needed to use. Nonetheless, she repeated the gesture and words, over and over, fixing small mistakes almost as soon as Caleb pointed them out. 

And then she stopped. Hand still outstretched, she sat as if frozen, making no sound. 

“What is it, Nott? Do you need to take a break?” Caleb asked.

“N-no, Caleb,” Nott whispered, almost inaudible, “I- I think I did it!”

Caleb looked up from the face of his young companion and, sure enough, there it was. Hovering a few inches above Nott’s hand, so faint that he hadn’t noticed it at first, was a tiny orb of soft, blue light. It quavered like a candle flame as Nott began laughing, breathlessly at first, growing until it was a full-throated cackle. As Nott wrapped her arms around herself and rocked with the force of her laughter, the feeble light faded out. Caleb tensed, anticipating an aftershock of disappointment.

Yet as Nott looked up at him after managing to catch her breath, her smile threatened to split her round face in half. 

“Didja see that Caleb? Didja see?” Her voice was hoarse with glee. “I did magic! A real, honest magic!”

Caleb grinned, infected with her joy. “Yes you did, kluges Mädel! That was an impressive first try! Now, let’s keep going. Do exactly as you did, but this time, speak a little louder, and keep your hand-”

A knock at the door cut him off. It came again, two raps, loud and insistent. It came a third time, louder still, before Caleb managed to open the door. In the hall stood three men, each more wiry and nasty-looking than the last. The front man, a pug-faced, barrel-chested fellow, spoke up in a thick Menagerie Coast accent: “Good evening sir. My partners and I would be liking to speak with you about a certain nobleman who was in town today. May we come in?” His tone made it clear this was not a request. 

Caleb hesitated for a moment before replying. “Bitte, es tut mir leid, aber ich verstehe nicht die Gemeinsamsprache.” He blanched as he prayed to the uncaring gods that his bluff would work. 

“Ja? Kein Problem,” the thug responded in slow but clear Zemnian.

Damn. No such luck, of course. 

Caleb’s mind whirred. “Eh, Moment, bitte.” He turned, addressing his attention to Nott and hoping the three unwanted guests would do that same. He began to call to her, quickly slamming the door shut in the other man’s distracted face. 

“Nott,” he said, bracing against the door as fists began to barrage the other side, “We need to leave, right now. Get your things and open the window, please and thank you.” His heart raced with terror, but he kept a brave face. For her sake. Nott, understanding the situation, raced to collect their few belongings, and was out the second-story window and into the street before he had time to think about how he was going to get himself down. 

There was nothing else for it, he supposed. As he launched himself off of the door and flung his body through the open window, the roughnecks barging into the room after him, a single, perfect word crystallized in his mind and came to his lips, a summation of the situation, his mood, and the way his life seemed to be headed.

“Scheiße.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of German phrases in order of appearance:  
> Junker: An archaic title of nobility, comparable to the knightly Sir  
> Herr: Sir or Mister  
> Komm: Come  
> Bitte warten Sie: Please, wait  
> Liebe Herr: Dear sir  
> Mein guter Herr: My good sir  
> Dreckiger: Filthy thing  
> Ganz gut: Very good  
> Nottchen: Little Nott (The suffix -chen is a dimunitive, and can be attached to any noun to imply that the thing is small and/or cute)  
> Ja: Yes  
> Liebchen: Dear one  
> Ach, still sein: Aw, hush  
> Absolut sicher: Absolutely certain  
> Kleiner: Little one  
> Kluges Mädel: Clever girl  
> Bitte, es tut mir leid, aber ich verstehe nicht die Gemeinsamsprache: Please, I'm very sorry, but I don't understand the Common Language.  
> Ja? Kein Problem: Oh yeah? No problem.  
> Moment, bitte: One moment, please  
> Scheiße: Shit


	2. No Country for Old Wizards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nott and Caleb flee pursuing ruffians and do some soul searching.

If there was something Caleb hated more than running, it was running with a twisted ankle. 

Nott, of course, had stuck the fall from the second-story window perfectly, with an expert tuck-and-roll and four point stance. Caleb did not have the luxury of her dexterity and compact frame, and he came down hard on one leg, spraining it badly. Nott had hauled him to his feet with surprising strength, and together they hobbled down the nearest alleyway. Apparently, their three new friends didn’t opt for the window route, but Caleb was too slow on his ankle to outrun them for long. They needed a distraction. 

Caleb spoke an arcane word and a fat orange tabby cat appeared on his shoulder. The cat seemed unperturbed by the unfortunate circumstances, yawning broadly and blinking its lantern eyes. 

“Nott, I need you to steer for a bit,” Caleb said. “I’m going to take Frumpkin out and see if I can’t delay our pursuers a bit. If you need me back, pinch my arm very hard.” With that, the wizard’s eyes clouded over, his head slumping forward slightly. Nott had seen him do this plenty of times, but it didn’t stop being just a little unsettling, his body still moving though his senses had departed.

Frumpkin shivered as the connection was made, hopping down to the pavement silently. With the cat’s sharp senses, Caleb could tell that the men were only a few streets behind them and gaining quickly. He paused, considering his options. Nine pounds of angry orange fur and claws to the face would slow anyone down, but would also likely result in a dead kitty, and Caleb ill wanted to lose Frumpkin at the moment. Another way, then. 

The tabby slunk around a corner toward the chasing men, scanning the long alley for anything of use. Caleb’s mind raced, putting pieces together. Here, a well-worn dirt thoroughfare. There, a full rain barrel, neglected after last week’s showers. Finally, a rack of crude but sharp farmer’s implements. He formed a plan and put it into action, hoping beyond hope that it would work somehow. 

The three goons came tearing into the alley, legs pumping as they pursued their quarry. They knew these streets well enough to sprint full speed, even in the late evening darkness. They were not prepared for a large mud slick full of pointy metal. The front runner slid a good three feet in the muck before toppling backward, his head serendipitously striking the business end of a spade. The second man saw his comrade go down and tried to slow himself, but, in so doing, brought his left foot down on the spikes of a heavy tilling rake. As he collapsed, screaming and cursing, the third man took a flying leap, clearing the mud effortlessly, losing no speed in his chase.

Caleb broke the mental link and directed Frumpkin to follow closely but stay out of sight. They still had a bruiser after them, but putting two of the three out of commission was better than he had hoped for. Magic was wonderful, he thought, but sometimes all one needs is a cartoonishly unlikely booby trap. 

Their path dead-ended with high walls on three sides. The Menagerie Coast tough blocked the only way out, a cruel-looking blade in his hand. Nott pinched his arm frantically. 

“It’s okay, Schatzi, I’m here, I see him,” Caleb whispered. Nott cowered behind his legs, struggling to load her crossbow with shaking hands. 

The man swaggered forward, relishing their fear. “Yesterday night, we try to shake down a nobleman in a carriage,” he drawled, his voice deliberate and slow. “We kill his driver, kill his bodyguard, take everything he has, and leave him in a ditch, yes? Simple, routine job. Except the nobleman has no money. Thought he did, but now is gone. Thinks a couple of street people took it. Gives a very nice description of them too.” He had drawn within spitting distance, his casual tone belied by his spring-coiled muscles, ready to strike at any moment. “It was very nice of nobleman to tell us who had his money. Almost made me sad to bleed him out.” He chuckled, throaty and unpleasant. “But you see, he broke the rule. The rule is, nobody does business like that in this town but the Golden Boys. And rule breakers get punished. So, here is what we do now. You drop your weapons,” he said, gesturing his blade at Nott’s crossbow, “You give me the money, and I only cut a few pieces off of you. A generous deal, yes?” He smiled, humorless, and advanced on the pair. Nott yelped, tensing up in fear. The thug stumbled and swore as a small metal bolt suddenly sprouted from his upper thigh, and Nott stared in horror at her now-unloaded crossbow. 

Caleb saw his chance. With fluid, practiced speed, he twitched his fingers just so and whispered a few syllables which, when woven together, pulled energy itself from the air, coalescing into a mote of flame in his palm. He thrust his arm forward, unhesitating, hurling the fire at the aggressor. Immediately, the man’s groans of pain escalated to screams of anguish. His rough woolen clothing caught fire eagerly, spreading the flames up and down his body. 

He did not die quickly, or quietly. 

Caleb could only watch, blessedly thinking to pull Nott in close to his chest, shielding her eyes so she would, at least, not have to see it. 

But Caleb saw it. 

Oh gods, he saw. 

_Oh, gods._

A tug on his sleeve shook him from his trance. Nott, mask on and eyes stony, stared up at him. 

“C’mon Caleb,” she said, voice cracking, “We’re okay, but we have to leave now. Might be more of ‘em.”

“Yes,” he mumbled, floating back up to his senses, “Yes, lass uns gehen.” Giving the smoking corpse a wide berth, they left the alley and disappeared into busy streets. 

 

It smelled of old manure and moldy straw, but the empty stables on the outskirts of town at least provided some shelter and comfort. Caleb would much rather get hay in his clothes than sleep in a ditch again. And maybe the pungent barnyard odor would cover up the stench of burnt flesh that lingered on his clothes. 

Caleb, wrapped in his cloak and a warm blanket, shivered hard. 

“Caleb?” Nott called quietly, bundled up on her own pile of straw. “Caleb, are you awake?”

He rolled over to face her, only able to make out her silhouette in the dim moonlight. “Yes, I’m awake. What is it, Nottchen?”

After a long, dense pause, she responded, “Caleb, have you ever killed anyone before? I mean, before today?” Her voice was even but strained, each word an effort. 

Another pause, as he considered. “Yes. I have killed people.” 

“Why... Why did ya do it?”

Caleb inhaled sharply. That was a question he asked himself, almost daily. He still didn’t know the true answer. 

He spoke back, hesitantly. “Bad reasons. Ones that seemed right at the time, but I know now they were wrong.” That was all he could think to say without divulging more of his sordid past than he cared to just then.

A minute passed in silence before Nott asked, “W-were you good at it?”

“Why are you asking these things?” Caleb replied, concern mounting. 

Nott’s voice came back through the darkness, thin and fragile. “I never killed a human, but... I’ve killed things. Y’know, thinkin’ things. Other goblins and such... An’ I don’t like it, but, well... I’m good at it.” Caleb cast about for a reply, but she continued. “Seems like I always know just where to put a knife or a bolt to make something stop livin’. I never thought about it before, thought that’s just how life was for a goblin, but... Caleb, am I a monster?”

Her voice broke on the last syllable, barely holding back a sob. Caleb could hear her whimpering, picture how hard she must be biting her lip to keep from weeping. 

Caleb sat up, leaning forward, saying, “Gods, no, you aren’t a monster, Nott. Gods, no.”

“Really?” she squeaked.

“Nott, you are a hero,” Caleb said. “You saved my life. I would never have made it out of that prison without you. So what, you’re good at killing? So that is how you are, but it doesn’t change _who_ you are. You don’t have to do what you’re good at. Me, I’m good at any number of things, I’m good at fucking identifying trees by the shapes of their leaves, but does that mean I do it all the time? No, I don’t have to, that isn’t who I am. And I hate trees anyway. Fuck them.”

This drew a small, hiccuping laugh from the goblin girl, who had descended into a snorting, gasping fit that could be reasonably identified as crying. Caleb pressed on, saying, “We all have to do some abgefuckte things to get by. That’s life. I know that better than most people. We just have to be good in spite of that. You are good, in spite of that. You are wonderful and brave and there are a thousand people I would call monster before you.”

“Brave?” she said, “Heh heh. No one’s ever called me that before.” Her breathing began to slow as she moved from sobbing to sniffling. 

“I think you’re the bravest goblin I’ve ever met,” Caleb said.

“You must not’a met many goblins, then,” she replied. “Nott the Brave. Heh.”

“All right, Mutiger, get some sleep. We have a lot of walking to do tomorrow. I never want to see this müllige town again.” Caleb nestled back down into his cocoon of fabric and straw, hearing Nott do the same. She sighed once, heavily. With a subtle gesture, Caleb summoned Frumpkin and sent the cat to snuggle up to Nott, a great blob of orange fur and rumbling purrs.

“Thank you, Caleb,” she said hugging Frumpkin close. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This is the last chapter of this piece for the time being, until I come up with more ideas for interactions, events, and character moments these two could have before the campaign started. Suggestions are welcome! I will definitely keep writing, maybe something about Jester or maybe some Vox Machina stuff. Again, if you like my writing and have a prompt, tell me!
> 
> Glossary of German phrases in order of appearance:
> 
> Schatzi: My dear, lit. "little treasure"  
> Lass uns gehen: Let's go  
> Nottchen: Little Nott  
> Abgefuckte: Fucked-up  
> Mütiger: Brave one  
> Müllige: Trashy or garbage


End file.
